Is there a male menopause? As a man in his mid-50s, I have recently become aware of getting older. Increasing age has had a curious effect on my psyche. I am noticing, on an almost daily basis, that I am thinking, feeling and behaving in ways that are starkly different from my youth and earlier adulthood. I will share these experiences on this blog and hope others will join me in describing their own age-related quirks and oddities. I can't be the only one at this "funny age", can I??

Saturday, 17 March 2012

Despite being born and raised in a rural area, surrounded by greenery and rugged countryside, it is only over the last couple of years that Mrs Jones and I have started hill walking. Striving for buttocks like iron girders and thighs of chiselled steal, each weekend (except for those times when I can’t be arsed) I tramp the peaks and dales of my locality.

Mrs Jones in the hills of Lancashire, UK

Last Saturday, nearing home in the latter stages of a 10-mile hike, I was heard to proclaim, “I’d kill for a nice cup of tea”. Yes, I was actually getting excited in anticipation of a brew! The same man who, 30 years ago, was a renowned piss-head who would regularly imbibe a gallon-and-a-half of ale on a drunken bender was now getting misty at the prospect of a cuppa. Oh, how things have changed!

Thursday, 1 March 2012

Maybe there was a time when I had more ambitious aims in the bedroom. Nowadays, I try to impress my lover in a different way. My good lady wife, my partner of 31 years, typically retires to bed earlier than I do so by the time I enter the bedroom she is sitting up in bed reading her Hello magazine. I stand facing her at the foot of the bed. Slowly, nay tantalisingly, I begin to undress, removing one item of clothing at a time and letting each drop to the floor. My good lady doesn’t look up, pretending to absorb the glossy-page splendour of Kate Middleton and Prince William. When clad only in my grey, partially perished, George underpants, I pause (a deliberate ploy to ratchet up the tension). Teasingly, I slide my briefs down to my knees and let them drop, but before they hit the floor I stick out my cultured left foot and lampoon them under the elastic waistband. Standing on one leg, with my boxers swinging from my outstretched foot, I bend forwards with my eyes closed and hands behind my back (have you got the picture?) and proceed to flip the undies high into the air. Rotating like a boomerang over my bowed head, without moving my hands from the base of my spine, I catch them just above the nick of my clenched arse.